the past should stay dead
by assassin of grammar
Summary: I'd like to dedicate this to the darling worms gnawing on my corpse, which in their great mercy endeavored to make my death last; to the wonderful people because of whom saving tomorrow matters; to the coldblooded bastards who make the present war. (SI, OC. Self-Insert via Reincarnation, set during Third Shinobi World War)
1. yesterday I saw tomorrow

This story begins before it even begins, but that was another life.

Once upon a time, in a large and densely populated city surrounded by a thick wood, children played, birds chirped, leaves swayed in the breeze and a military government successfully fostered a (in)famous sense of patriotism in its citizens' hearts...

You see, it's all a matter of phrasing.

There were certain things I used to trick myself into overlooking, sometimes, so that my predicament felt almost normal.

Maybe if I could have blinded myself to the faces of benevolent dictators carved into stone overhead. Maybe if I could have muted the patter of sandaled feet against my rooftop as I laid sleeplessly in the dark, afraid, because my mother's bedtime tales spoke of tailed beasts and elemental manipulation and all-seeing eyes and all those things that should not exist, my waking nightmares. Maybe if I could have ignored the metal plates on those around me, all gleaming polish and spiraling leaf proudly engraved, the mark of a ninja, which was not a profession but a way of life, the basis of an entire civilization.

Maybe if I could have looked the other way when my elder brother, who was truly a child, a pure unbloodied infant rather than the undead aberration passing for a toddler that I was, pressed his pudgy cheek flat against a shop window and stared greedily at the deadly kunai behind it, at the promise of _power _behind the kunai, the gleaming edge of shinobi life such a thin line to tread. Maybe if I'd looked the other way, I could have found a sense of normalcy.

But I could not, I would not avert my eyes, because it was devastingly real and I could never go back. I can never go back home.

...Deep down I think I always knew, or maybe I didn't even dare to hope. Instead of dreaming about the life I'd lost, I settled for pretending I had stayed dead. Silent, unmoving, catatonic even, all through the mind-numbing days of infancy and cradles, when the weight of my grief for all I'd left behind was such that I was too sad to cry at all. But my new parents fed me regardless, didn't let me fade away. I won't say I resent them for it, but it's more complicated than that.

Then came war and jolted me out of my make believe.

* * *

This is Konoha at war. Tightening security around the walls, rationing food (shinobi first and civilians later because this is the time for sacrifices, they said), cursing the Daimyo who would not give us enough funds, praying to the Will of Fire, rooting out spies, deferring to security protocols, nightmares, wounded shinobi rushing in like scattered leaves only to die on the hospital bed, civilians fighting their everyday battles, believing we were safe, believing the war would not reach past the village's walls, believing we would win, nightmares.

This is how I learned to fear death once more.

Hazuki's arms were at once unsteady and suffocatingly tight around me, and together we stared at the shape laid on the table, the white blanket partially thrown back off it, dripping blood. His body was a crime scene, shards of bone laid bare amidst strips of raw red flesh, limbs missing, face mangled into an unrecognizable visage, an eyeball jutting out of its socket, crushed skull caving in, brains spilling out.

''It's standard procedure,'' the man beside us began slowly, formally, impersonally, ''that we ask you to identify—''

But Hazuki's legs gave out from under her, and she crumbled to the floor madly screaming in pain and misery, rocking me against her chest as she howled out his name, again and again, ''Inoki!—Inoki—I-I-In...'' And she squeezed me convulsively, and I could only stare.

_This is not him. This can't possibly be him._

I knew this man. How could I reconcile the man and the soldier, when the soldier had been mauled to death in the battlefield? The man would be back, he'd sit next to us at the dinner table, he'd throw me into the air and catch me in his arms, he'd complain about doing the dishes, he'd fix the leak on the roof, he'd make love to his wife, he'd hold his son again and teach the bright innocent boy to throw weapons, he'd attempt to breathe life into me, his unresponsive daughter—I had never called him my father, I'd never accepted this new family, but he had been ___something, _and now he was no more.

There had... there had been more to him than being a soldier, and now the family man, the amateur gardener, the son, the hopelessly bad cook, the friend to so many, he had died too, and he was not just another shinobi whose death I took as a matter of fact. Not another nameless, faceless casualty of war.

''Hazuki,'' I whispered against my mother's neck, emptily. I had no words of consolation. Nothing to offer except the warm weight of her daughter against her chest. But I wanted, I needed to do more, because for the first time I couldn't disconnect myself from this reality under the pretense of this not being my world.

But no pats on the back would suffice, and I wouldn't lie that it would be okay because I couldn't make it right. I'd rejected this life in mourning all that I'd lost, but so many people had lost not only their past but also their present and their future in this war, and I—I couldn't remain indifferent to life. I felt _something, _a jumbled jigsaw of emotion, painfearworrydread, and I couldn't deny that I was _alive._

Then the arms around me slackened as my mother toppled limply backwards, and I looked up to see tears streaming down her deathly pale face, her eyes closed, and for a moment I was overcome with sheer panic, before her chest—upon which I still rested—heaved with breath. I did not move, just curled up against her, small and quite, holding back tears.

Then the hospital worker saw to it that we were removed, politely, efficiently, businesslike aside from the courtesy of his expressed condolences, even if he looked rather cross that the unconscious woman had not the heart for the bureaucratic protocols of identifying corpses. I found myself suddenly struck by a ferocious urge to tear his calm face off, to snap at the nurses marching by at an undisturbed pace, to scream at the vaguely sympathetic indifference of the world.

But I could only meekly trail after the nurses as they carted Hazuki off, and since she soon began to toss and turn, incoherently babbling, they sedated her and set her on a bed with disapproving frowns, as if thinking _what a waste of a bed in an overcrowded hospital during wartime. _Then they addressed the matter of getting ''the child'' to a responsible adult, and I was not consulted.

I butted in anyway, rather rudely, ''My father is dead. There is only my mother—right here, and I'm staying with her.'' And because it was too much trouble finding me a babysitter, they scampered busily away, onto more urgent matters. I glared after them.

Then I sat beside the bed in silence, clutching Hazuki's limp hand in my own. I never noticed the shinobi come in.

He cleared his throat loudly, deliberately alerting to his presence. It was with a yelp and a start that I whipped around, wide-eyed, half-rising, the motion halted in my unwillingness to let go of Hazuki's hand. How had he—the door had been right in front of me the whole time—_ninja. _He wore a Leaf headband, and that should have made me feel safe, had I not remained altogether too wary of superpowered killers who could crush me in less than a second.

''Masako-chan, is it?'' He said kindly, if a little ___too _soft and careful, as though handling a fragile thing. There was a pause, his gaze resting briefly on my mother, and I understood that he was purposefully giving me the space to talk. He wouldn't push, even as the silence stretched.

Eventually I stopped staring daggers at him and looked down at my feet, shuffling. ''Yamanaka-san, what... what are you doing here?''

''Ah, well, you remember me! Your father—you see—I happened to be in the hospital,'' Inoichi gestured at his arm, which was on a sling, and I noticed the fading purple bruises on his face and neck, and how his incredibly intimidating chunin vest was rather ragged and stained red, ''then I thought I'd come to see your mother... and you, of course.'' He added quickly, though he had evidently thought he'd be dealing with her, rather than having to censor himself before a small child.

''Oh.'' I gave a sigh beyond my years. ''Well, I—we're fine. Thank you for stopping by.'' _The door's that way._

''Ah, but I'd like to keep you company. We can wait for your mother to wake up, how does that sound? We haven't talked in a while, yes?'' Inoichi soothed, calculating but genuinely gentle, before unceremoniously seating himself. I gave no answer.

''Were you on the mission that killed Inoki?'' I asked suddenly, after some time.

His eyes sharpened on me, surprised, ''Who told you—''

''I saw,'' my voice was cold, unwilling to be babied now, ''I _saw_ him there bleeding and he was missing ___limbs _and they___ e_xpected us to identify him but there was nothing _l____eft _to identify... how did—how did he...?''

''You shouldn't have seen that,'' Inoichi said very seriously, because I was all of four years old, ''Your mother shouldn't have let you...''

''It's ___not _her fault!'' I protested fiercely, ''They were hurrying her to come here and they never _told _her, she didn't know, she didn't know until...'' I gestured weakly to the pale woman stretched limply on the bed. Tears threatened to fall from my eyes at the very sight of her, and oh, how she'd screamed his name... _poor, poor Hazuki. _''I'll be fine, Yamanaka-san,'' I said shortly. I'd always been the odd one out in our family, which is not to say I wasn't grieving, but I hadn't been close to him like Hazuki had... I would never be that close to anyone again, when I knew what it was like to lose my whole world once already.

''But you don't have to do it alone, little one. I knew your father a long time, you know. He talked a lot about you.''

More like he had asked Inoichi to evaluate me psychologically, when it became clear that I refused to talk or play with other children or even acknowledge anybody's presence, and that I'd stop eating sometimes before my resolve to starve myself crumbled in the face of my new parents' concern.

''You can stay,'' I told him quietly as realization struck me, ''You cared about him too.''

''Your father was a good man.''

''But that doesn't matter anymore,'' I retorted bitterly, ''because he wasn't a good ninja.'' And now he was gone_._

''Your father—he'll ___always _be in our hearts. As long as we remember, his memory will carve out the path to a new generation. He died a hero, Masako-chan, a proud shinobi of Konoha. And,'' his gaze rested heavily on me, ''he left us a legacy in the form of you and your brother, his children.''

I thought of Yamashiro Aoba, my seven-year-old brother, currently in the academy, shooting kunai at wooden targets and being lectured on how to better aim to kill, blissfully unaware of what actually happened in the battlefield, of what'd happened to the man that used to ruffle his hair and tuck him into bed in the evenings. Would little Aoba-niichan be a dead hero someday? Would I? ''He was more than a hero of Konoha. He was my father,'' calling him such rung false in my heart, but undeniably, he some sort of... ''He was _family._''

It was true to the both of us. Yamashiro Inoki was half-Yamanaka on his mother's side, him and Inoichi had been cousins.

''Masako-chan, you are young yet. But shinobi... we aren't the things of legends—the mind and heart of a shinobi... there is no true courage in a weapon. True courage is the courage of those who are more than warriors, _more than shinobi, _people, men and women, and still lay all that they have on the line time and again, risking so much more than defeat, sacrificing so much more than their survival—to risk losing everything they hold dear ___to protect _everything they hold dear.''

''And when you're a hero, you accept the casualties along the way.'' I pronounced flatly, my eyes boring into his. ''Isn't that right?''

Inoichi did not quaver. ''We learn to live with them, yes.'' Then he patted my head briefly, dismissing the issue lest he give into mournful recollection himself, ''You'll understand in time, Masako-chan. I'm sure you'll grow up to be a great kunoichi.''

''Maybe it's better to be average,'' I said sardonically, ''Less pressure.'' But there was so much truth to it, in my heart.

''Ah, but you aren't average at all.'' Then he looked at me, _really _looked at me, a little too sharp, a little too deep, and I was almost scared. What if he took it upon himself to read my mind—what if he learned I wasn't really his cousin's four year old daughter—what would happen to me if they knew I had knowledge of the timeline—Torture and Interrogation, _Torture and Interrogation_—but then his expression cleared and he simply said, ''Take care, Masako-chan. If there's anything I can do for you or your family...''

''If you would be so kind, Yamanaka-san, there are some papers in the morgue that have to be taken care of. Thank you so very much,'' I said, bowing formally, unable to better express the overwhelming gratitude which now gripped me. As much as I hated to impose, he _had _been Inoki's fellow Clan member. And when Hazuki woke up, I knew she wouldn't handle paperwork, she'd... crumble. And Aoba-niichan—oh god, little Aoba. There was so much I couldn't do, for my family, for this whole wide world.

Inoichi, bless his heart, nodded and left, only stopping briefly at the door to look back at me and say, ''You should visit the Memorial Stone sometime.''

Because heroes accept casualties.

But I was no hero at all. I knew the future. I knew of the Fourth Shinobi World War while the Third was still raging on. I knew of Orochimaru's betrayal and of the Kyubi Attack. Of Madara and Obito. I knew of the lives lost and broken along the timeline, but who was I to save them, when I'd only just decided that this new life of mine was worth living after all I'd lost?

Maybe I could help the world—maybe I could help Hazuki and Aoba—maybe I could help myself.

(I did not visit the Memorial Stone).

* * *

In the spring which followed my fifth birthday, I joined the Konohagakure no Sato Ninja Academy. The decision had all the stifling hopelessness and the resigned weight of a foregone conclusion, despite the early entrance. Admittance ordinarily started at six, but given the demands of war, many a exception was granted, especially when you had someone from Intelligence vouch for your advanced comprehension ability. Would things have been different, had Inoichi not seen the potential?

Contrary to his expectations, I was no stellar student. Certainly not when held up to the shining standard of Hatake Kakashi, four years old and excelling at every lesson. Lacking in both natural aptitude and discipline, I was a sullen little thing, solemn blue eyes deep set in a tiny face, and with a heavy air about me, silently hostile with a promise of danger implicit, at an age where most children's strongest threat was tears. There was no love lost between me and my classmates, nor was I a favorite with teachers given my skittish, unruly manners and my initial tendency to shamelessly shirk assignments—they put us through the ropes of reading and writing, and it was all so dreadfully boring that attending to homework almost felt like debasing myself.

But as soon as the subtle façade of elementary schooling began to slip, I_ failed _miserably, when I couldn't afford to fail. This was not academics, this was military training: something I was wholly unused to. They began our physical conditioning, and laps, push-ups, sit-ups and various other exercises were an horrifying reminder of how utterly unprepared I was. Not the dead-last, but dangerously close, and it took me months of putting in extra time in the Academy training grounds, early in the morning and after school, until I reached a fitness standard I was reasonably satisfied with—the fitness standard of a good academy student, which would get me crushed in any battlefield out there.

The years passed me by. I could not, would not stop training. It wasn't enough.

They once had a jonin come over and tell us about his life in Konoha's service. I think the kids were expecting another boring lecture on the Ninja Code, but he'd taken us outside, to the sunny training grounds. Without so much as looking, he sent half a dozen shuriken flying towards the targets, sinking deep into the wood, an effortless bull's eye; then mischievously winked at us, the sun glinting off his yellow hair, and left the kids in complete awe. Namikaze Minato commanded attention without ever raising his voice and spoke of his many accomplishments with unassuming grace.

''Minato-sama! Is it true you saved the Daimyo of Rice Country?''

''Well, yes, my whole team did their jobs superbly, though I happened to be the one to neutralize the threat."

''Hey, Namikaze-sama, have you ever rescued a princess?''

''The prettiest princess ever, if I do say so myself. With hair like fire and a temper to match.''

''Do you have a super secret technique to beat Iwa ninja, Minato-sama?''

''Hmm, me? Haha. Lightening techniques are generally very effective against Earth users, I guess.''

''Can you teach us?''

''Namikaze-sama, _please—_''

''Yeah! Minato-sama!''

I wanted to ask how many men he'd killed, but I doubted he kept score, and standing in his shadow felt a lot like peace regardless.

In the end, Minato did not teach us any super-secret kinjutsu like my classmates had hoped: just another morning of target practice, which always made me feel embarrassingly jittery. He watched all the while, correcting an uneven stance here, a weak throw there.

My palms were slick with sweat and I was on the brink of cutting myself as I turned the cold steel nervously around on shaky fingers, wanting nothing more than to drop the weapon. Perspective twisted, and the target was a tiny beacon in the horizon, an unreachable wooden line beyond the patch of grass that stretched on and on, abyss-like, with leaves like raised spears. The warm sunshine was a hellish fire scorching my skin, an unbearable heat searing my veins, and I was all but collapsing into sweat and nerves—last time I'd picked up a blade had been to defend myself, in another life, and we all know how well _that_ turned out.

___Dead. _Dead, dead, dead. Should've stayed dead.

Suddenly a strong hand took hold of my wrist, steering it confidently up until it was level with the target, and I tightened my grip on the kunai for the first time, unconsciously, as I found myself staring into his eyes. And his eyes were blue, cornflower blue, so very blue that the sky paled in comparison; they pierced through and tore away at my every layer, unravelling the empty shell of me, wild defenseless little thing that I was, and oh so very scared.

But his eyes gave away nothing in turn, only a superficial politeness. ''Don't keep such a loose hold on the kunai—here,'' he went to guide my fingers, pausing in surprise, ''not so tight either.''

My hand was clenched into a shaking, white-knuckled fist with a strength I didn't know I had. Something about his chakra was so tremendous, so fierce, so overpowering, that it'd felt like staring into the eyes of a tiger even as he stood there placidly, helpfully, without the least killing intent.

Then he let his hand drop, staring at me thoughtfully. Flushing, I lamely stammered out excuses, ''My form is not very good, Namikaze-sama, I... I always forget to... lock my wrist.'' The more I said, the more embarrassed I became, until I was blazing red with shame and frustration and feeling like snapping at anyone and anything, but still unable to meet his eyes.

''Hmm,'' mused Minato, a soothing undertone to his voice, ''I don't think your form is that bad, honestly. I think you need to work on what's in here.'' Effortlessly slipping past my guard, his finger came to tap once at the side of my head, almost playfully. I flinched.

___Now the future Hokage thinks I'm a nutcase. Wonderful._

But he was already off to prevent a reckless Obito from skewering himself, and I was left glaring murder in his wake, knowing he could have killed me a thousand times over and furious at myself for being so damn vulnerable... and at him for being so kind, for seeing through my tough girl act so easily. Huffily, I sent the kunai flying into the ground near my feet, hard, fast, but far off the mark.

Once Minato left, leaving behind an army of adoring mini-supporters to nurse their hero worship, the lot of us were directed to an unfamiliar room, as our usual one was currently being painted. It struck me as exceedingly odd that they would decide to paint the room in the middle of class, and a room with spotless white walls at that, but when I snuck out to investigate, there seemed to be nothing out of place. The plate on the door read Classroom 202, the knob was rusty as always, the hinges squeaking as I peeked inside, and it looked perfectly empty—but where was the smell of fresh paint? I frowned, sliding a finger down the wall; it came away wet and stained white, but as I raised it towards my nose, there was still no discernible odour. Cautiously, I weighed my options, noticing that the lighting seemed a little off too, or maybe the sun was just brighter than usual today...

''Kai,'' I whispered, attempting to stem the flow of my chakra. It felt like erecting a paper dam against a tidal wave, and my head rushed with the pent-up energy I had held off for a split second. There was a crack on the window—or maybe it was a trick of the light, I thought, blinking, as it vanished seamlessly. No, I'd seen a crack on the window, and the thought chilled me to the core. Who would...? I dug around on my pockets, gripping the kunai from earlier, and sliced across my palm_, _a shallow cut dripping slowly onto the classroom floor—but I focused on the pain, the old familiar sting.

And sure enough, the vision of an intact classroom melted away before my eyes, the air around me warping away into dizzying spirals, the walls visibly shuddering, the light blinding and muted by turns—a single instant of disorientation in which solid objects waxed and waned and changed colors at whim—before the illusion shattered, peeling off the room like crusty old paint, and my vision reassembled itself at last. The window was broken, grass shards scattered on the floor, and a few of our desks looked like they had been blown apart, others had fallen upside down against the walls. There was blood drying on the walls. An exploding tag on the floor, slightly crumpled, deactivated.

I turned tail and ran, face-first into the hard surface of a flak jacket. Reeling back, I looked up to see sharingan eyes glaring over my head. So ___red._ And spinning, spinning fast, and I wanted them to stop, because I was spinning with them and the room was spinning too, the whole wide world felt like spinning propelled by the gravity of his eyes. Then he blinked, his eyelids hitching in that weary bat of matted eyelashes that I'd seen so many times before, and I recognized his face, the slits of his eyes, the pale skin veil over the demonic red gaze. Teyaki-sensei, the man who taught me everyday. I never knew he was an Uchiha. I reckon he wasn't on such good terms with his clan, if he'd wound up teaching on the Academy in the first place, either by choice or punishment.

His eyes opened again, coal-black, human. He stared at me in abject surprise and I was just glad to see emotion, weakness, instead of redmurder_s____pinning_. But then his pure shock flitted away into a dark expression of such strong disapproval that I was rooted to the spot, shivering, doe-eyed, mouth shaped into words that didn't come, because for an instant, he was murderous, instead of merely looking it. I could feel it in my crumbling bones, in the stifling weight of his killing intent clogging the atmosphere, in the silent fireworks bursting in my running veins and fizzling out in my frozen brain without so much as a spark. I couldn't think. I backed away, or rather ___wanted to_ with every fiber of my being, but could only stumble back pitifully, before his hand shot out and gripped my elbow, steadying me.

''Yamashiro Masako,'' he barked. ''What. Are. You. Doing. Here?'' Each word drawled out between ominous pauses.

''I... I'd left something in the classroom. I didn't mean to, I swear!'' His hold on my elbow only tightened as he began to drag me away forcefully. ''What ___happened _in there?''

''_Nothing,_'' Teyaki-sensei hissed meaningfully, ''nothing you should have seen—children _always_ panic at those things, it's not good for morale.''

''What do you mean?'' I yelped, the gears turning in my head as I struggled to keep up with his brisk pace. If it became public knowledge that our war enemies had managed to penetrate this far, targeting our children of all things... no wonder they were keeping the security breach hush-hush, evacuating the building under the pretense of a field lesson... a casual field lesson with an elite jounin, huh?

Underneath of the underneath, circles within circles, and I wondered if I'd ever feel safe again... maybe if I bought into the illusion. I could've been a blissfully powerless civillian, forever trusting in my almighty shinobi protectors. What was best, to be ignorant but happy, or knowing and paranoid? The red pill, Morpheus, thank you.

But didn't I already have more knowledge than I knew what to do with?

''Someone infiltrated the Academy?'' Teyaki-sensei didn't answer, but his expression darkened even further somehow. I ventured the obvious guess. ''Iwa?''

''Silence!'' He whirled around to stare me down, letting go of me in the proccess. I schooled my face into the picture of young innocence, and for once I didn't even have to fake the fear. ''You shouldn't have been there—we had a jonin evacuate the students. You were perfectly safe the whole time. _Perfectly safe._'' He stressed, looking at me disgustedly, almost warily. ''It's been taken care of. If it weren't for slippery little buggers like you snooping around—you weren't supposed to have gone _anywhere_ near that door.''

_And you were supposed to have been guarding it, weren't you,_ I wanted to fire back, but he had me cowed. It wasn't even his Uchiha blood, and rather the blood drying on the walls of the classroom in which I sat everyday_._ The war had always been a distant reality to me, the battlefields a faraway place... but now... if it hadn't been for Minato taking us away... I shuddered all over, apprehension bubbling in the pit of my stomach.

''I won't tell, I swear. I'll—I'll do dentention if you want me—''

''No! You idiot child—just ___go,_ but I _swear _if I hear you running your mouth—''

''I won't! Promise!'' Then I ran, before he could change his mind. In hindsight, Teyaki-sensei struck me as someone who'd always cared more about the mistake he'd made in leaving his watch, the possible stain on his already shameful record, the backlash from his clan, than the public relations disaster that would've been the security breach.

* * *

I went to my brother right away. Maybe it was because I heard the chatter of children outside in the playground, maybe I wanted to play ninja for a while and forget that death required a little more than for you to sit in a corner for some fifteen minutes before hopping back in the game. Or maybe it was some foolish compunction to hold Aoba's little hand and keep him well within my sight, away from corners and shadows and empty classrooms. But he was a boy and quickly gave me to understand that holding his little sister's hand in public was _embarrassing._

I snorted, defiantly tugging his dark glasses off his face before he could manage to pry me off him. ''Got a fearsome reputation to keep up, my ickle little onii-chan?'' Stripped from his shades, gone was his cool air of inexpressive detachment and with it his confidence. His vulnerable blue eyes darted listlessly away from mine, annoyed but downcast, refusing to rise up to the bait. I tried not to let my disappointment show. Aoba held out a hand, half-demanding, half-pleading, wanting nothing more than to cover himself up again, but I merely dangled the glasses teasingly over his palm before slipping away through his grasping fingers. ''Come on, can you find me a spot in one of those ninja teams?''

''What do you care?'' He glared briefly at me, then back at the floor. ''You never play anyway.'' And I truly had no idea what the game was even about, besides hurling paper shuriken at one another and making a great deal of noise.

''Well, I thought it might be fun, just this once.'' I tugged his chin upwards with my fingers. ''Please, onii-chan? I get lonely sometimes.''

He stared at me doubtfully, eyes like augers probing for any of my usual mockery. I guess I did tease him an awful lot, but at the moment I was entirely thrilled he was holding my gaze, without sunglasses, and without looking away or shrinking into himself. He hadn't done that since Inoki's death, when he'd started clinging to those damned shades like they could cover up his eyes swollen from crying, like they could cover up anything he felt. And that might have been an acceptable crutch for a shinobi as stamped on the pages of a storybook, where he'd fought and lived and donned sunglasses in a two-dimensional fiction, but it was not something I wanted for my brother. It was not something I wanted for any child.

One day, I'd adjust my expectations of childhood to the grooming of killers which was commonplace in this world. It was not that day, surrounded by idle laughter and able to play at being a child myself.

So I grabbed his hand like an anchor and threaded our fingers together. I couldn't smile. But I swung our joined hands back and forth, childishly, apropos of nothing, and stared at him tenderly from across the years. There might have been some moisture in my eyes which he mistook as sadness over his refusal. Eyes widening in alarm, for an instant he looked completely baffled, as if he'd never thought me capable of crying. Or of caring, even, when I so frequently let the world wash over me. But then his hand came to pat my back comfortingly and he mumbled and groused with just the right amount of gentle awkwardness, of loving exasperation, of tender long-suffering resignation, as if he'd been readying himself for the part of big brother his entire life. ''You can be on my team, I guess... Are you fast?''

I shrugged, ''I can try. Thanks, little onii-chan.''

''Can I have my sunglasses back now?''

''Maybe.'' Without warning, I took off on a run.

''Damn you! You can't be on my team anymore!'' Aoba said it like it was the greatest threat in the world and I laughed.

''Oooh, but I'm only showing how ___fast_ I am! You should be happy!'' Then I halted suddenly, whirling around, hands held up in a peace offering, his sunglasses on my face. ''How do they suit me?''

''Your face is ___stupid._''

Then I laughed some more and we ran in circles until I tripped and he caught up and he was laughing too, only to realize I'd made away with his glasses in some remote corner of the playground. Such a tragic discovery brought forth his righteous indignation and he promptly threatened to tell on me. ''That's _stealing,_ you know.''

''Psh, sibling rights to property.''

''Sensei will—''

_Sensei just killed a man in our classroom._

I sighed, the years catching up to me again and with them a bone-chilling wariness, as I suddenly remembered that the sunglasses didn't matter, that playing along didn't matter, that nothing I did matter, because Aoba would grow up to be a coldblooded killer whether or not I taught him to stare people in the eye as he did it.

And he froze, confused, frowning up at me, unable to comprehend how I could lapse back and forth between being his sister and being the ghost of someone else. I patted him on the head, the poor thing, and he let me join his team after all.

He was truly a kind boy. Too bad only my concern for his troubles could rouse me from my detachment towards life, his low grades and skinned knees spurring me into the urgency of action—tiny fixes, mothering in snippets—rather than the enduring appreciation of his virtues he well deserved. ''Come on, let's play,'' Aoba called with subdued excitement, made solemn by a vague concern he couldn't pinpoint amidst the strangeness of me, and tugged me along.

In the playground, we played at ninja, divided into two main groups: the Evil Rock Bandits and the righteous Leaf, the latter of which was led by the amazing Yellow Flash. I would have been bored half to death, except when whoever was cast as the Yellow Flash moved, everyone else stood comically still, and he'd run around yelling ''flash! flash! Flash!'' Of course everyone wanted to be the Yellow Flash. The shadow of his all-conquering luminescence painted their dreams golden. I thought of Minato, of how many kids the fleeting light of his steps lured into a cold and cruel war.

One Uchiha Obito vied the hardest to be our make-believe star that day and because he wouldn't take no for an answer, not when his beloved Nohara Rin was playing the part of the princess awaiting rescue, it was just easier to let him have his way if only to shut him up. When he ran around yelling, ''Flash! Flash!'' and ''I'll save you, Rin-chan!'', I openly laughed at the absurdity of it all and how he was paving his way to tragedy, even then.

And I couldn't keep myself from throwing wooden shuriken straight at him, maybe a little more spitefully than I should've but not nearly as threatening as an undead apocalyptic army, and so I easily forgave myself any premature bitterness. Even if I did not feel nearly as vindicated as I would have thought when it hit him squarely on the face and everyone realized they could throw things at him, Yellow Flash or not, and he got pelted mercilessly and couldn't save Rin at all.

Maybe, I thought to myself, firing away in the breezy stillness of morning, with sunkissed dust splashing upon Obito's fall like blood should have, maybe insofar as him at his worst could change the world, it would then be wise to wish him all of the best. But I couldn't. His sway over my destiny was repulsive; it reminded me that this was the world of great battles and godlike shinobi, that it was the world of legends and I was just living in it, an accident of birth, powerless to stop those who twisted the fabric of reality to their liking. And it made me feel a little too inconsequential and ant-like, that the boy stumbling along the playground would grow into something larger than life itself.

The bad guys won that round. On the next, it was unanimously decided that a downtrodden Obito would play the princess, at which point he looked legitimately terrified of any mistreatment in our villainous hands, especially since, having been awarded the dubious honor of having the most ''kills'' on the previous round, I would be the one to guard him closely. But at that point I was more than fed up with the whole thing and had no wish to stand there looking vaguely threatening and half-heartedly sneering at poor Princess Obito. So I decided to go and grab someone to take my spot, but _of course_ the Uchiha wouldn't leave it at that.

Fiddling sulkily with his goggles, he turned to me and all but demanded, ''Hey, where are you going?''

''To help an old lady across the street. I might be late.''

''What?'' He frowned, looking around and finding a remarkable shortage of old ladies. ''You're weird. And mean. You threw things at me earlier!''

''Yes,'' I met his accusing expression with a wholly unrepentant look. ''Did it hurt, princess?''

''You... I'm not a princess! I'm a ___boy__!_ An ___Uchiha__!_'' Obito shot up to his feet, fists balled angrily at his sides. My eyes narrowed to match his and I laid a restraining hand tersely on his shoulder, the skin of my palm crawling at the contact even as I resolutely attempted to push him back down.

''Sit down.''

''No! You don't tell me what to do!''

''It's the rules of the ___game. _Sit down,'' I ordered tightly, patience running thin, my frail little bubble of control over the situation even thinner. If he refused to stay down, I'd have to make him, and this man... this boy. Just a boy. Just another schoolyard brawl. Forcibly steeling myself into a tenacity I didn't quite feel, running with the impulse to chase away my fears, I brought my head closer to his and narrowed my eyes into venomous slits, mockingly hissing, ''_Princess._''

He went red as a beet.

Poor sweet Rin, sensing his distress, waved from afar. ''Don't worry, Obito, I'll save you!''

That seemed to take the wind out of his sails and he plopped right back down sullenly, muttering something about choosing his battles. But he couldn't stay quiet for long and soon he was grumbling again, mostly about how I was the meanest meanie ever and how he'd show me, and I pretended like I didn't listen but it was hard not to when he kept talking louder and louder and staring at me more pointedly with every word. I pursed my lips tightly shut and closed my eyes, head throbbing. ''When Rin-chan and I win—''

''I don't ___care_ about this ___stupid_ game,'' I told him, quite calmly and completely mad and overflowing with things he couldn't understand, a deep everlasting resentment carved out in hard lines all over my face, the kind of white hot pent-up rage that weathers you a year for every day you keep it festering in your breast. And an ingrained bitterness, a dead-weight weariness, a sudden fierceness in my fever bright eyes that had him taken aback, mouth agape, staring up at me from where he was crouched on the floor, and I could read it in his eyes that ___he didn't know where so much anger was coming from _and he thought he'd been mad at me but not like this... never like this.

I turned away from him, feeling oddly ashamed of myself, and left before he could say anything. Before he could even fully realize the extent of my capacity to hate. I needed to clear my head. We all have it in us to be villains, not just the Obitos. I guess I wasn't any better, not really, if I didn't watch myself.

So I went to fetch someone to take my place in the game. I'd ruined so much that day, I didn't want to ruin my brother's fun too.

I tried Anko first. In retrospect it wasn't the most adequate of choices. I found her crouched over some thorny bushes, all skinned knees and quick hands stealing into the foliage, hissing sweetly to the shadows in some savage cajoling rhythm, and I promptly flicked a pebble at her. It hit her in the back of her ankle and she swiveled around, leveling me with a glare. ''WHAT THE HELL, YAMASHIRO? LEAVE ME ALONE!"

There would have been far more amiable kids to treat with, I conceded, but I really just wanted someone I wouldn't have to say _please_ to. Tough Anko, brash little Anko, Anko with the bruises and the bad manners, Anko with the baby teeth and the angry smiles. Someone to size me up and bristle and glare, to push me away so I didn't have to be the hostile one for once. I was at that point where I didn't want to pretend civility. I crossed my arms and stared tiredly at her.

''What are you doing, Mitarashi? Why aren't you playing? Don't you want to be the best ninja ever, the great Yellow Flash-sama?'' That she _wanted_ to be included, I had little doubt, but she was still too small and already too wild, a combination which rendered her unpopular and frequently troubled. Her troubles weren't mine; how she would do in the game had no bearing as long as I got my token replacement. Even if it was five years old, unwashed, temperamental and made faces at me.

But Anko scrunched up her nose, ''You're all a bunch of Minato-tards!''

''Minato-tards?'' I echoed, deadpan.

''Flashing here and there isn't even cool anyway,'' Anko insisted. ''The best ninjas do awesome stuff. Like _snakes._'' And with that she turned away from me, sticking her hand into the bushes again on the hunt for some garden snake. She'd snatch them up and sometimes smuggle them into class, hide them coiled up under the desks of unwary classmates who'd startle and shriek at their hisses, and Anko would laugh. She said she liked snakes more than people. People said snakes were dangerous but snakes had hurt her less than people. ''Ohhh, drat, it got away already!'' She whined at the empty bushes, throwing me a glare as if to say _look what you did._

I decided to try another angle. ''Say, you don't wanna be the Yellow Flash, how about you _beat_ the Yellow Flash? You think he can be beaten? By _anybody?_''

''I bet Orochimaru-sama of the Sannin could!'' I scoffed at her. ''What? He could too! He's the greatest ninja ever!''

''You shouldn't say that,'' I muttered very quietly. She looked confused for a moment, then stuck her tongue out at me in defiance. ''What makes you think Orochimaru is better than Namikaze anyway?''

_''Because._ He's the snake master! He's one of the great sannin! He's like, he's like—''

''Oh, quit it,'' I said flatly, closing my eyes. _So damn tired. _

I almost wanted to tell her that Minato had come running to the rescue of a bunch of academy students, that Orochimaru would never do that, that Orochimaru would use up her soul and toss it out like garbage — but then again who wouldn't. _Can't trust anyone._ I walked away. Left her to sputter indignantly and curse me over her escaped snake. But I couldn't give up just yet. I had a mission in this game.

I found Asuma sitting under the shadow of a great oak tree, his young hollowed face dappled by the sunlight filtering through the gnarled branches as he stared skywards, over the hallowed mountain of the Hokages, towards the horizon beyond. I'd never talked to him before, the gap in status between me and the Hokage's honorable son was too great, or maybe just not radical enough for him to rebel against. Asuma liked rebelling. He'd talk back to the teachers and they'd bend over backwards to placate the Hokage's offspring, which only seemed to upset him further. He'd find brand new ways to slack off and sigh almost melancholy when nobody would call him out on it. He'd sneak out and you'd find him napping on the roof, yet his penchant for truancy never did hurt his record since his father's merits eclipsed his faults. I idly wondered when he'd start with the cigarettes — probably too young.

''Hey... Sarutobi. You feel like playing? I just freed up a spot,'' I said, sticking my hands in my pockets.

I think it was the lack of a suffix in my address that made him look up. ''And you are...?'' He said slowly. ''I think I'll pass. Don't really feel like pretending to be a princess. But thanks.''

''I don't think you'd even have to pretend to be someone else. The Hokage's son would make for a target too.''

Asuma stiffened visibly. ''Look,'' he said angrily, ''I don't matter as much as you all think I do. I'm—it's not like my father would drop everything and—the village comes first.'' And I could tell it hurt him to be second place in his father's attentions. I suddenly wanted to apologize and reassure him... of what? That his father loved him? The Sandaime _had_ loved him in the pages I'd read long ago, but how could I pretend to know better about something that intimate?

''Yeah, sorry. I didn't mean... you don't have to play the victim anyway,'' I offered lamely, ''You could be one of the rescuers. One of the Konoha ninja.''

''Konoha ninja can be victims too,'' Asuma kicked the dead leaves at his feet, his eyes distant.

''That they can. Sometimes things go awfully wrong and... they got to keep fighting until...'' Inoki was the lump in my throat blocking the word death. I swallowed. ''I'd be scared. I'd wish I could save myself. I might run.''

There was a long silence. ''Me too,'' Asuma whispered, so quietly I almost missed it. It was beyond surreal, that I was standing there bonding with the Hokage's son over what amounted to _treason._

But we didn't have to make those choices yet. I thought of Minato's bright smile and Uchiha Teyaki-sensei's sharingan eyes. We had people to protect us. We were Konoha's treasured next generation, we were the king Asuma spoke of in the manga. Still I didn't _feel_ like a king. I felt small. I felt helpless. Utterly irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Maybe Asuma had just made that up, maybe he'd just wanted to believe that he, the youth, reigned over his old man the Hokage.

Suddenly a hissing noise crept into my ears and I fought the urge to flinch. I saw Asuma's eyes widen as he went very, very still. A massive brown snake lay tangled on the grass near my feet, its undulating body thicker than my forearm and less than a stride away as it slithered closer. A muffled, mischievous giggling floated down from the tree branches above. _Anko_. The snake reared its sibilant head, fangs gleaming.

I struck first. The bloodstained kunai from earlier had felt like a deadweight in my pocket, but as soon as I grasped it, it suddenly became light and easy, all sharp balanced edges and sunshine glinting off steel painted red, and I drove it forwards and upwards in a deadly curve. Cold hard scales brushed against my hand as I tore ruthlessly through meat and bone, until snake blood poured cold and wet over my fingers and sickened me, and only then did I feel something like fear but still I pushed through, pushed harder, burying the blade up to the hilt through its skull, so deep it stuck out on the other end. Then the snake thrashed in agony and I felt like throwing up and I could hear Anko screaming at me but I didn't listen, and then she landed in a heap on the ground and grabbed at the snake and screamed, ''Let go!''

I did. She clutched the dead snake to her chest like her heartbeat could lull it back to life, torn between crying her eyes out and punching me in the face or both.

Asuma picked that moment to stand. ''I guess I'm off to join the game after all.''

''Well, thanks,'' I bellowed after him. I very carefully didn't look at Anko.

''Yamashiro, you... you... You killed him... How could you... _I'LL KICK YOUR ASS!"_

And then I was occupied in holding back an armful of enraged, sniffling five-year-old, ''Well, if you liked it that much, you shouldn't send it to attack people. You're only putting it in danger.''

''I'LL BEAT YOU EVEN IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO IN MY LIFE, YOU STUPID UGLY _EVIL_ HAG!''

And true to form, Anko chased me all over the playground, though thankfully I could perform a half-decent Henge already and threw her off easily. It didn't stop her from hunting me down after class and challenging me to a spar, which I won because I was eight and she five and I was that much bigger, but then she challenged me again the next day and the day after that and again the day after...

Eventually I'd just sigh distractedly, ''I'm sorry, did you say something?'' because it looked awfully like I'd gotten myself an eternal rival.

* * *

The room was desolate and musty, its white walls bare and its rotting floorboards littered with broken pieces of furniture. Tattered curtains, made yellow by the ever present cloud of cigarette smoke, hung limply from a pair of rusty metal rods. Cardboards and rags had been stuffed into the sole window, shutting out the night's chill, and the atmosphere had become dank and grimy. Roaches scampered on shadowy corners. Only the photographs were left unsullied, shining portraits of lost love painstakingly preserved, and I wished I'd smiled for them. I wished I'd known to appreciate what I had before I lost it. Coming by always felt like walking on eggshells, like stumbling on shadows. It was dark and gloomy. It was home.

Under the window, in a nest of dirty blankets, on a bed much too wide for the solitude of her emaciated body, trembled a woman. I looked at her and she shrunk into herself, bones jutting out, face tucked away into folded arms. Was she crying?

''I've brought you dinner, Mother,'' I announced, looking down at the warm plate in my hands to realize it was not the food I'd brought in. _Of course._ I suppressed the urge to scream and made myself very, very still. So very still, that only the little things remained, like the pounding of my veins and the rush of my exhalations and the slow mournful cadence of my mother's sobs, and then not even that, not even the chakra crawling ever so slowly across my limbs, and for a single timeless moment I held the whole wide room confined in my hands. Then I released it, and the illusion shattered.

The woman did lay in bed but she didn't cry. She smiled at him. Aoba-nii-chan stood rooted to the spot, barely breathing, a lost look on his eyes. His dark, wide eyes. I wanted to cry. He looked like _her,_ unblinking and unfocused, just like Mother. I seized him by the shoulders and poured a rush of chakra into his limbs, and he jolted awake with a start, gasping for breath like a drowning man pulled to the surface. His eyes found mine and there were tears.

''She got you. It'll be okay,'' I breathed. Mother had only ever been a career genin. I hadn't realized she could hold two people under two different illusions at the same damn time. ''Just look at me. It wasn't real, alright? I told you not to come here alone, Aoba.''

''Mother was calling me... then Father was,'' he moaned, ''Father was here. He said he would never leave again. He was smiling and ruffling my hair and he called me Ao-chan, just like he always did. You _have_ to believe me, Masako. He said we'd be together—''

''And then you'd never leave this room. The first time Mother got me, I was here for _hours,_ living out her precious little fantasy, until I realized the scenes seemed stuck on repeat, over and over again. But she's gotten better since. Craftier.'' I cradled his face in my hands. ''Go. Rest a while,'' then I pushed him out the door as fast as I could, looking warily over my shoulder at the woman on the bed. Her face betrayed nothing, not a speck of guilt and it frankly enraged me.

''Why do this to him!'' I seethed at her. ''Why show him that? It's not nice or funny or even real happiness and how dare you pretend. _You don't have a right to pretend._ We lost people and we can never go back. Pretending doesn't work for shit. It's cowardly and hurtful and gives us nothing! You hurt Aoba, you hurt yourself. And I—what can I do? What the fuck do you want me to do? I can't even come into this room for more than a couple of minutes. I can't even come clean your dirt for the fear you'll have me trapped in your lies. Get up! Stand up! Look at you! Do you really want to live like this? Why not just die? At least I'm _trying,_ but you—I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm not really that much stronger than you, you know. I'm just lucky I had you.'' A pause. ''I won't let Aoba in here again for a while. I can't let you hurt him like this.''

Hazuki didn't say a word. She just stared off into nothing. But then her chakra crept over mine and I saw Inoki's smile. Recoiling as though I'd been struck, I quickly set her plate on the bedside table and stormed out.

Aoba awaited me on the outside. His eyes were red from crying. ''Masako...''

''Aoba-nii.''

We stood shoulder to shoulder. I reached for his hand. He spoke in a rush.

''I _know_ about genjutsu, I do, we learned about it on class, I had the best grades too, I was just—I didn't think—how long have you been handling this... her... on your own?''

I shrugged. Some months. She'd gotten much worse really quickly and the illusions had gotten much better. It scared me.

''I'll become ninja and I'll take care of you,'' he was rambling now, ''I'll take care of you both, Father would have—''

''No. You promised, little onii-chan. You won't become ninja before I do. We'll go into this war together.''


	2. today I break away

TWO MONTHS LATER, GRADUATION DAY 

I sighed in defeat and lolled my head back against the cool brick of the gray wall imprisoning me, peeking out surreptitiously from behind iron bars at the primly standing lady officer watching us with an oddly pursed expression on her flat face, as though holding back a smile, and the joke was undoubtedly on us. I heard my sigh echoed by one of my teammates, sagging in a corner with his head bent over his knees, while the other simply couldn't stop pacing around our cell, hysterically ranting that it was never his intention to break the law, that he'd only tried to make things right and that this was all just a big misunderstanding.

Well, and jail is just a big building.

But wait, you might ask, how did you get here? Who are your teammates? Who is this lady cop? How the hell are you going to get out of this place?

Let's rewind and get to the bottom of this mess.

* * *

The day started out innocently enough. I was watering potted plants at the Yamanaka flower shop, digging my fingers into the humid earth at languid intervals, when Inoichi came in and vigorously clapped my shoulder with a knowing smile, ''So, big day, huh?''

I shrugged. Even though I'd passed my final examinations and had felt an unprecedented surge of pride at that, there was a chance I'd be washing out and back at the Academy that same day, which might even be preferable, provided Aoba accompanied me in the safe living of the mediocre. But why, then, did I have nightmares of underperforming, why had I woken up queasy and anxious over the spectre of failure, feeling about as well rested as if I'd slept in a bed of nails? All I knew was I didn't want to talk about it.

''You know, these rose buds look in need of some pruning, Boss,'' I said instead, and Inoichi raised his eyebrows at me, because I only ever called him boss when he had me peeved. ''What? Not like I have forgiven you for teaching onii-chan those mind tricks; he got me with the shintenshin and the stuff he made me do in front of the whole class was _embarrassing._''

Inoichi chuckled heartily, then looked around the store, ''Speaking of him, has Aoba-kun arrived yet?''

''He's in the back. Go teach him your sorcery.''

''The mind techniques really aren't a mystery unless you want them to be,'' Inoichi said mildly and perfunctorily offered, like he always did, ''You're welcome to join us.''

I pulled a face, ''Nah, I'm good,'' and ducked behind a fern.

My brother and I worked part-time on the shop, which I suspected was actually the Yamanakas' underhanded charity at work, since there _really_ must have been no shortage of superiorly qualified candidates, being that I knew not a thing about gardening; besides, Aoba spent most of his shift training or talking with Inoichi, who hardly seemed to mind the blatant slacking off. Still I bustled about the plants with genuine effort, grateful for the financial boost and also because working a sane, peaceful, menial job made me feel remarkably adult, which was comforting. Much to my dismay, I had no gift for gardening, though I managed to quit smothering the poor vegetables with my overzealousness after the first week, and I did make for an excellent cashier, which was why I lit up everytime the doorbell ringed, announcing a customer as it did just then.

''Welcome to the Yamanaka Flowershop, how may I help you—ah, it's just you guys.''

''Aren't you just thrilled to see us? Fear not, we actually came to buy flowers for a change,'' Akimichi Chouza said amusedly as he munched on his potato chips, then leaned over the counter and whispered conspiratorially, ''Shikaku's gotten in trouble with the missus.''

I snickered, deciding I liked Chouza. He had a presence and a frame that could fill up a room, in a good way, with lighthearted cheerfulness and dimpled smiles, plus he was always generous with food. I didn't mind Shikaku either; he was funny with that air of long-suffering lethargy, standing aloof with his hands in his pockets and a vaguely miffed expression on his still unblemished face as he gruffly grumbled about difficult women.

''Maybe if I brought her lilies... no,'' and so he muttered listlessly to himself before suddenly he rounded on me, eyes razor sharp, ''What do you think, kid?''

I blinked, taken aback. How could a man who probably applied multi-layered long-term schemes with dozens of failsafes to solve spats with his girlfriend ask me to think for him? I laughed it off, ''Nara-san, can't you see women are like wrathful deities? Poor mortal, you can only hope your humble offerings are enough to placate her.'' But I wrapped him a beautiful bouquet of daisies and gardenias and sent him off with the grim look of a man who anticipates a gruesome battle ahead, with Chouza quietly snickering on his heels, though suddenly they both looked back at me and the laughter ceased and was replaced by quiet words I couldn't make out.

Not long after, the bell resumed its ringing. I looked up to see His Lateness himself rush into the store, nearly knocking over a vase of orchids, and I wished Inoichi hadn't stepped back in right that moment because then I had to maintain composure or he'd wonder. But I was a professional, or so I told myself encouragingly, and I could manage the standard greeting to customers.

Obito wouldn't have known casual if it slapped him in the face. The way he stopped on his tracks and pointed at me, you'd have thought I'd actually revealed myself to be from another world. ''_You!_ I know you! Hey, what are you doing here?''

''I work here. I mean, how may I help you?''

''Um, flowers. I want flowers!''

''Which?'' I prompted, but he just stood there looking around and making little indecisive noises, like he expected the perfect flower to just jump out at him, and I scoffed, ''We haven't any venus flytraps in stock.'' At that suggestion, Obito only stared blankly, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like _weirdo,_ so I banished the image of an orange mask from my mind and decided to be helpful, ''Rin likes poppies.'' Not that I _knew_ her, mind you, but I'd gone to kunoichi classes with her.

Obito jumped about four feet in the air and yelped loudly, turning into so many new and exciting shades of red it was a wonder he didn't explode into tomato sauce, ''R-r-r-rin?'' He sputtered, ''I d-don't kn-know what you're talking about... why would I—I mean—did she say she wanted me to...?'' He trailed off hopefully, blushing scarlet.

''No.'' I could see him deflate before my eyes.

''I was, um, I was buying flowers for old Inotsukuri-baa-chan anyway, as thanks for the sweets she gave me.''

At that name, my blood ran cold and I pinned him with a withering glare. Nevermind Madara, I'd bet it was _her_ association that turned this boy into pure evil. ''That vile old hag,'' I muttered somberly, ''is probably just fattening you up to eat you.'' Then I realized too late Inochi was watching, his brow furrowed softly in disapproval. I hated that look. It made him seem older, haggard and oddly brittle somehow, like the little lines on his face were threatening to tear it apart at the seams. _Damn Uchiha,_ I thought furiously, scapegoating the blunder away from my own big mouth as I alternated between furiously scrubbing nonexistent dust off the counter and glaring daggers.

''What?'' Said Obito, peeved. ''What's with you and hating everyone? You don't even know me! You don't know old Inotsukuri—''

''Oh, I know her _alright,_'' I spat venomously, ''She gives you sweet treats if you do her bidding like a dog, but the moment you deny her—''

''I'm not going to let you talk about the old lady like this!''

''That's my own damn grandmother I'm talking about!" I spat out, but by then Inoichi's heavy hand was clamped uncomfortably around my shoulder, forcefully steering me out the room as he barked out an order for Aoba to finish the sale in my stead.

''Give him daffodils,'' I hissed to onii-chan as he passed me by, and he looked at me bewilderedly but nodded. Then I sat before Inoichi with my hands on my knees and awaited the lecture to come. It didn't begin at all like I thought it would, of course, because he always managed to catch me off guard with his subtle mind games no matter how much I steeled myself.

Inoichi stared out the window for a while, his hand still hovering over my shoulder, then lightly spoke, as though musing out loud, ''Daffodils, a flower symbolizing misfortune. Remarkable choice.''

''Look, if this is about me saying I'd forgiven Inotsukuri... I lied.'' _Obviously. _I was hoping if I acknowledged my resentment, he'd sagely say something like it was the first step to healing or some other philosophical mojo, but Inoichi only nodded at me, signaling me to go on. I did, angrily, ''How come_ she_ isn't sitting here getting a lecture on proper behavior? You know, after institutionalizing women against their will and assaulting little girls? Just because she's old, suddenly her shitty decisions become wise?''

''Masako,'' Inoichi said warningly, but with that clinical look to his eye he got when noting that _patient appears to reject authority figures_ or something such. ''You know your mother wasn't mistreated in the facility. It's the best in its field and it's very rare for non-clan members to be admitted—''

''It's not a _privilege,_ it's a damned looney bin!''

Yamanaka techniques were very taxing on the brain, sometimes to the point of _rupture._ Horrible stories of people who fractured their minds floated around, from catatonic human vegetables to mildly clairvoyant lunatics to rabid amnesiacs to a single body hosting a legion of people, and I'd had the grim opportunity to put haunting faces to those sad tales in the stifling white walls of the psychiatric ward, with its endless corridors and standardized cells, blank nurses and penetrating smell of antiseptic. That was where Inotsukuri had sent Mother when she'd briefly taken custody of us.

Something of despair must have shown on my face, because Inoichi gently inquired after my mother's health. Was she eating? Had she seemed worse since we'd returned home?

''She's alright,'' I said with perfect neutrality. ''Not well, but I'm taking care of her. Not much changed.'' _A__side from her newfound penchant for attacking me with fantasies of my dead father, but if I told you that, you'd deem her a danger and lock her up again._

Inoichi flashed me an exasperated look. ''See how you are? You just shut people out, Masako-chan. I can see why Inotsukuri would—''

''Stop.''

''You were having a nightmare—you were crying and shaking—you weren't responding so she tried to reach out to you telepathically—''

''I don't _want_ to open up my mind, alright? It's not a free bird waiting to fly away, it's a vault for my thoughts and I _really_ don't want anybody else in there and I _really_ don't want to leave it, and if I'm isolating myself from the spiritual flow between consciences or whatever you say, then so be it.''

''Inotsukuri didn't know that. It's customary for us to touch our children's minds—''

''I know. She charmingly wondered if I was slow for my age when I freaked out. Look, Inoichi-jiisan, I know you think I'll change my mind but I won't. I don't _ever_ want to do this.''

He sighed almost mournfully. ''I was hoping you'd come around.''

A long silence followed, stretching between us like a tangible barrier of mistrust and dashed expectations. At last I cleared my throat awkwardly and said, completely apropos of nothing, ''You know, Akimichi and Nara were here earlier...''

Inoichi nodded distractedly, ''I should hurry and try to catch them. We have something to discuss.''

And thus I unwittingly provided him with the means to ditch me without too much of a toll on his conscience.

* * *

Ditch me for good, as it turned out.

''Team one will be Yamashiro Aoba, Morino Ibiki and Yuuhi Kurenai under jounin sensei Yamanaka Inoichi.''

My heart plummeted and I tightened my hand around Aoba's so hard he winced even as he grinned excitedly, all but preening, because he'd finally made it and wasn't I proud? I mustered a wan smile back. _Kurenai. _Had Inoichi ever even _talked_ to Kurenai before? Indignation arose swiftly within me and I buried my head into my hands, mortified. Why would he pick her? Why did he not want me? I'd thought he _liked_ me, liked me enough to offer me work and training, so how could he do this to me? To us? He _knew_ I had to keep track of Aoba or I'd go crazy. Or maybe that was it; maybe he thought my protectiveness towards onii-chan would become an obstacle, that I wouldn't be able to focus on the missions—or would I? At least I wouldn't be worrying myself sick from afar! I sunk miserably into the wooden desk, wishing the ground would swallow me up and let me do this over.

Aoba was leaning over me concernedly and I shook my head weakly, ''I'm fine, just nervous. Congrats.''

His expression looked uncertain but before he could reply, the deadlast came barreling into the room, looking around like a psychotic deer in the headlights, ''Sorry, I'm late! Wait, you guys have begun already!? Which team—am I with Rin—"

''You haven't been called yet,'' I informed him blankly, and he seemed almost startled by my civility, like I was about to grow another head and bite him. But I was defeated beyond aggression, though I silently resented that he'd been the catalyst for my fight with Inoichi—_still..._ I hadn't thought a single argument could've ruined all the trust we'd built over the years... had I really only any value to Inoichi as long as I were willing to be trained? The truth was, he'd far overestimated my tenacity. If he'd made learning clan jutsu a condition to take me on, I'd have gritted my teeth and bore it, even if the mere thought of one of my secrets slipping out had me sweating cold. When I said I didn't _want_ to do it, I hadn't factored coercion into my decision. _But I really should start,_ _because this is how this world rolls._

Teyaki-sensei cleared his throat pointedly, ''As I was saying, team two will be Maito Gai, Sarutobi Asuma and Yamashiro Masako under jounin Nara Shikaku; he's left an order for you to meet him at the gate. Team Three...'' From thereon I payed him no mind, absorbed by furious thoughts of knocking my chair over, clambering onto the teacher's desk and throwing a hissy fit; yet somehow this barely contained intensity of emotion made me feel strangely lethargic, like I _felt_ too much but _could_ too little, sitting there outwardly placid even as Aoba chattered away excitedly in my ear. The iron headband was a lead weight against my throbbing temples and I clutched at it convulsively; the more my thoughts darkened, the more I thought like a shinobi.

Nevermind the bond I'd thought I had with Inoichi, this was a matter of how efficiently he could utilize me. And if I wouldn't learn the clan techniques, what good was I? I'd aced my written tests, I could perform the three basic ninjutsu with a consistency rarely found in recent graduates, but I was only a little above average in taijutsu and my throwing accuracy was nothing short of abysmal; in all, a painfully unimpressive picture. I knew Kurenai was a genjutsu specialist, and while I was also good at it, while I had a couple nasty illusions on my arsenal already, I had no way to compare our abilities presently and every indication she would be better in the future—I certainly wouldn't bet on _me_ making jounin, I thought with a pang of jealousy. Objectively speaking, _I_'d have picked Kurenai too. Yet I was immediately struck by a sudden urge to be _great, _to race to the nearest training field and work myself to the bone until I became something else, somehow. But success doesn't come from an urge, not even from isolated effort, and rather from a trajectory... only I had no one to guide me. But I would have soon. Inoichi really didn't trust me as far as he could throw me, did he? Had to tell Shikaku to keep an eye on me.

''Masako,'' Aoba poked me, his voice cutting into my thoughts, ''Ibiki is calling me over, says he has some questions for me.''

''Alright. Good luck.'' I let him go and immediately wished that I hadn't, that I'd kept him a little longer, made up some random matter, but that would only have annoyed him. And so I found myself trudging after my teammates towards the gates of Konoha with a heavy heart, as Gai dashed at top speed standing upside down on his hands and Asuma dragged his feet. I didn't have to _like_ them, I told myself resolutely, this was solely about our ability to function as a cohesive combat unit. _We are shinobi,_ I thought, and a shudder ran up my spine.

* * *

Of all people, Gai had the occasion to promote my dispassionately utilitarian view of teamwork. We were standing idly before the gate, Asuma and I surreptitiously staring at the comers and goers while ducking under the piercing glances of the sentinels on the wall, though they nevertheless recognized him on sight as the Sarutobi kid and waved, much to his chagrin. Meanwhile Gai dropped to the ground and started doing push ups with such single-minded fierceness you'd have thought the floor was on fire and he was desperately trying to lift himself off the flames, seeming either oblivious or utterly indifferent to the fact this was not a training ground, because as soon as he met some unknown quota that I simply qualified as _too many, _he promptly jumped up and clapped his hands, ''Friends! Come, let us acquaint ourselves through an amiable spar so that we may know how brightly our youthful flames burn!''

Asuma and I looked at his enthusiastically outstretched hand, then at each other. Simultaneously, we shook our heads feebly.

''Come!'' Gai bellowed again, as though we hadn't heard him the first time, because it wasn't like we could have in good faith turned down such a _glorious_ offer.

''No,'' I said slowly, very carefully, pausing to let it sink in. He looked utterly confused and I unthinkingly blurted, ''I don't wanna get beaten up.''

Asuma scoffed, ''Then I'm afraid you're in the wrong line of work, Yamamoto.''

''It's Yamashiro,'' I corrected flatly. Asuma _was_ right. If all went well, I'd end up sparring with Gai daily and _grateful_ for it, as it would help prepare me for adversaries with much deadlier intentions, yet my instinctive reaction had been to run from pain even in safety. I could feel my ears burning with shame and I desperately wished I'd said something more sensible, like us having to be well rested for the meeting with sensei or whatever. As gruffly as I could manage, I said defensively, ''Well, I don't see you volunteering to take him on either, Sarutobi.''

He muttered something to the effect of it requiring too much effort, then leaned against the wall and asked the question which was the elephant blockading the street, ''Why do you have a mustache penciled on your face?''

''Anko,'' I said simply by way of answer. It was easier to just let her prank me or she'd keep trying while getting increasingly creative. Plus she'd left a dango stick in my locker with a message that said congratulations for graduating, which was nice. Even if she'd also sneaked up on me and tackled me to the ground and attempted to wrestle and then sobbed and clung to my leg and swore she was _totally_ going to surpass me soon while yelling how much she hated getting left behind. I found myself hoping she stayed out of the war a long time.

''Gotten by a five year old,'' Asuma grinned, ''Or is she going to end up like the snake sometime, Yamasaki?''

I bristled. So he did remember that incident, even if he couldn't be minded to recall my damned name. Gai shook his head sadly at us both, declaring, ''It's so unyouthful, friends.'' We lapsed into silence.

When Shikaku arrived, introductions were brief. I called him Nara-sensei and pretended like I'd never seen him in my life, and he didn't look particularly bothered by it. He slumped against the gate, exchanged a few hushed words with the sentinels and then peered at us through half-lidded eyes. ''I'm the one in charge of you. Might not be for long, though. Are you guys too much trouble to have around? Don't answer. You're the last people I'd trust with that question. On second thought, _do_ answer. It's worth knowing the difference between who you say you are and who you show yourselves to be.''

''I'm Maito Gai and it will be an honor to work with you, sir! Please take care of us,'' Gai interjected eagerly, with a formal bow and an infectiously gleaming smile. ''I am a committed youthful ninja of Konoha! I enjoy training, physical combat and pushing my body to its limits! I do not like people who turn down challenges,'' here he sent me a reproachful glance, ''and it is my fondest hope and truest desire to cultivate the flames of my youth so they burn their brightest even as I advance in years!''

''I'm _Yamashiro_ Masako,'' I stressed with a pointed look at Asuma, ''I like strawberry pocky, my brother, the practical uses of henge, using my imagination and the color blue. I dislike remembering and the underneath of the underneath. I want... to grow old. Old and saggy and wrinkly and senile and hairy in the ears. No flames of youth for me. I'd rather live out the war and retire to die peacefully in my sleep.'' _Don't fancy getting stabbed to death a second time,_ I thought warily, even as I thoroughly enjoyed the scandalized look on Gai's face as he sputtered that I'd horribly misunderstood his ideology and its meaning and it was all in the heart—

''It's Sarutobi-kun's turn now,'' Shikaku reminded him.

''I'm Asuma. I like shougi, fighting with blades, sausage and soba with totoro. I _hate _when people don't see me, when they're always busy or when they talk about what they don't know. I want to be free, to travel the world and grow up quickly.''

''Hmm,'' said Shikaku noncommittally, craning his neck to stare up at the clouds slowly, even as the gleam in his eye flashed a mile an hour. ''Nara Shikaku, jounin of Konoha. I like sake, deer, shougi and watching the sunset. I dislike noon, nagging and unsolvable existential conundrums such as women. Right now I aspire to nap. But it will have to wait until I solve this. So here's what you're going to do,'' and he pointed towards the gates.

''We're... going out?''

''No. _They_'re coming in.''

''And _who_ are they?''

''What sort of people come to Konoha?''

''Enemy ninja!?'' I asked in alarm. No, this couldn't be right, surely they wouldn't allow them in and make a spectacle of us fighting right at the gate... it wouldn't be...

''Youthful tourists!'' Gai offered.

''Merchants?'' was Asuma's guess.

''The answer is refugees. People who had their homes and livelihoods ravaged by the war, who lost possessions and loved ones and took off on the long journey towards safety, afoot, hungry and tired, defenseless through the wild woods. And still we must turn most of them away. Only after fulfilling exceptional qualifications are they accepted... so I ask that you welcome those people and show them around.''

''We're playing the tour guide?'' I asked, feeling beyond relieved and oddly let down.

''Well, your previous guess wasn't _entirely_ wrong, Yamashiro-kun. Among those innocent people seeking shelter, we have discovered evidence of an enemy spy. An untrained civilian but undeniably an informant of our enemies. You'll show them around town. I'll come meet you at the end of the tour and if you can point out the spy, I'll take you on. If not... there's always next year,'' Shikaku shrugged.

''Yosh!'' Gai enthused, pumping his fist. ''We'll work nonstop to uncover the treacherous spy—''

''You'll do no such thing,'' Shikaku said coolly. ''If we _wanted _to expose him, rest assured we'd employ far more advanced personnel. He's an untrained civilian, so I'd expect the three of you to be able handle him in the event of hostility... but that's unlikely.''

''You're just going to let him stay here?'' Asuma protested disbelievingly.

''Ever heard of the saying _keep your enemies closer?_ A compromised source can be invaluable in times like these.''

''A compromised source?'' I stared at him, eyes wide. ''So you know he's a spy, but you're deliberately letting him in so you can feed false information to Iwa through him? That's... he thinks he's got one up on you when you're actually just playing with him... the intelligence he sends will be ineffective at best or a trap for Iwa at worst...''

Like a predator toying with its meal, such was the great Village Hidden in the Leaves. Sometimes I felt almost proud to be part of such a colossal construct, thriving in the shadow of its protocols and networks and systematized hierarchy as though structure were but a safety net to fall back on; sometimes it scared me that I might be easily swallowed up between cogs of the machine with none the wiser.

* * *

The refugees had hungry eyes and closed mouths, tattered sleeves and dusty sandals, emaciated limbs and matted hair. Their hands were quick to clutch at each other but slow to reach out for the colorful trinkets on the stores, and when we spoke to them, their voices rung low and solemn aside from the shrill cries of the children. Eight of them. Armed with reticent eyes and stilted smiles like interrogation marks at their strange surroundings. There was an enamored young couple, a lonesome old man with his cane and a family of five—two worn out parents, two skinny toddlers running around and a sickly baby girl. We liked all of them as you like the bird that shows up on your window sill with a broken wing, so much so we hardly wanted to go about the messy task of discerning suspects. But inevitably, between admiring the Hokage mountain and showing them the local attractions, the matter came up.

''What if,'' Gai, who had been looking rather troubled all afternoon, suddenly lit up, ''what if they're all innocent?''

''Don't be ridiculous,'' Asuma scoffed. ''Sensei wouldn't make a mistake like that. The question is, which one?''

''My guess is as good as yours,'' I bit my lip, ''but I _hope_ we can at least cross off the children.'' It was a risk to take in a time of young shinobi, but sensei had said the spy was a civilian, and civilian children... The boys kept trying to draw us into a game of hide-and-seek, for goodness' sake. But weren't they the same age as us, shinobi? I sighed. This was beyond frustrating, even more so when I thought of Aoba and Ibiki, whose skills would be perfect for the job. _They_ wouldn't be having any trouble identifying the suspect. I... I could do this, I knew I could. I'd prove Inoichi wrong, I had to. Only I didn't know how.

I decided to corner the couple first, but in doing so I had to separate them, which wasn't easy. I all but dragged the young woman away and took to drilling her with questions about her documents. She seemed used to it, easily brandishing the worn papers with a subservient air, and when I asked her why she had come here, she said it was for safety.

''We're starting a family, Tetsuo and I... we thought a Hidden Village would be best... we can farm here, they don't take our land... I wrote to my father. You see,'' she smiled shakily, ''I'm a bastard daughter of a noble. He saw to it that we were granted a pass.''

''Did you consider any other Hidden Villages?'' I asked with narrowed eyes.

''Y-yes, um, Iwa and... K-kumo, I... I don't... we don't want to go anywhere else! This was our first choice, it was the closest, we can't leave now...''

Just as planned, I left her shaken so that Asuma could come into scene, henged into her lover Tetsuo. While he relentlessly prodded her with constant allusions to enemy village connections, treason, deceit and the unforgiving nature of Konoha shinobi, which he later informed only seemed to go over her head as she burst into tears, I ensnared the old man in a genjutsu that simulated an encounter with Iwa shinobi, which he reacted to fearfully rather than with the complicity of a spy.

Gai, tasked with testing the family, forged some Very Important Official Papers Entrusted To Him By His Jounin Sensei as bait for the spy. As expected, the papers were soon the subject of an abduction attempt. Triumphantly, he announced he'd caught him redhanded, him, the father of three, the man rocking the baby to sleep and fussing over his wife, the undercover spy.

''Gai,'' I blanched, ''Did he _see_ you watching him?''

''Well, yes, I suppose so. He hurriedly backed away from the papers when I woke up—not that I would have slept while on a mission, I just pretended to be dozing off so he would—''

''Gai,'' I said quietly, urgently, ''Forget about that. He _knows_ his cover's broken now. He might do something... desperate.''

He had nothing to lose. In a Hidden Village, death was preferable to capture and spies were instructed accordingly. The only problem was... some of them preferred to take as many people with them as possible. There might just be a suicidal terrorist inside the walls of Konoha.

We were a predator toying with our food, but an animal is most dangerous when cornered.

* * *

We found him kneeling over a puddle of blood, a long knife gleaming in his hands, dark ink blooming across his forehead. A seal activated by blood, revealing a kanji that'd been the death of many a shinobi. The family stood around in horror devoid of understanding, his bewildered wife attempting to wrench the blade away from his grasp, screaming _why are you hurting yourself,_ even as he screamed over her _stay with me, stay with me, they are coming,_ and the children wailed the loudest of all, without words, just inarticulate panic.

''Clear the area!'' Asuma barked, ''Quick! Anybody within ten feet! In thirty seconds!''

And then I was speeding through the air, sweeping a woman off her feet, her heavy shopping bags dropping to the ground as my feet took impulse and I flew up in a dizzying arc and I didn't ever want to come down and break all my bones because it was too quick, too quick and I couldn't breathe, but then chakra cushioned my fall as I touched down, depositing her onto the sidewalk, and turned around and dove right back into the danger zone. I could see Gai dashing by in a blur, a shellshocked man slung over his shoulders and a squirming one cradled in his arms bridal style.

From the spy came a sound that was a too broken for a sob and too miserable for a cackle, and he scrambled up to his feet at the sight of us, snarling, ''Keep away, Konoha monsters! Reinforcements from Iwa are coming! They will be here soon!'' and trying to call his children to him but they stood petrified, shrinking away from the light of death in his eyes, the seal ticking away on his forehead. It was great and dark and written with fatality, pulsating like a racing heart about to stop—_attack. _

_Oh, you poor thing, _I couldn't help but think, _that's what _you_ think the seal stands for. _

''Clear the area!'' Asuma repeated, dragging the spy's wife to safety as she screamed and reached for her husband. He tried running after her, saying we'd only ever take her over his dead body, which shifted the range of danger forwards and single-handedly botched the evacuation. ''KEEP HIM BACK, YAMAMOTO! WHATEVER YOU HAVE TO DO, PUSH HIM BACK!''

My chakra reached out! His chakra ducts were a raging sea, thunder and gales and tidal waves; I attempted to navigate them in a little row boat, rowing and rowing against the undertow which threatened to drown me in the bottom of his fury, and my attempts to take over his vision were an anchor which only sunk me further—I thought of a garden, butterflies, something calming, something vivid, daffodils, fields and fields of daffodils—then I jumped ship and became one with the ocean, a single drop in his veins, insensible to the currents of despair, and I thought of daffodils, daffodils, daffodils blooming inside his head, until he saw what I saw and saw it more keenly than I did, because to him it became real_._ And it gave Asuma and Gai the time to pull the family away from the man about to...

He started thrashing and writhing and I couldn't hold him under the illusion anymore, because he was in too much pain, and his eyes snapped open and he _screamed_ for his son, ''HIROSHI! DON'T LET THE LEAF TAKE YOU!'' and the boy halted, hesitated for a moment, then saw his father was crying and raced towards his open arms.

Gai dived after him. The seal went off. There was a bang, then a whimper.

When the smoke cleared, father and son had been blown apart. The wall of the house before us had collapsed in disjointed piles of bricks, and on the floor there was blood and guts strewn through rubble and severed limbs languishing in the embers and Gai. Gai was stuck under the debris and his face looked so pained. We dug him out with our bare hands, Asuma and I, and he was bleeding, and from the wound we couldn't see the words spilled forth, ''This can't... I was going to pull a replacement... but I was too slow... and he was so little, so _youthful,_'' and he hung his head and he sobbed.

Spontaneously, I threw my arms around him. Asuma said, his voice hollow, ''Let's take you to a hospital.''

The truth was Asuma hadn't wanted me as a teammate and I hadn't wanted him either, because we'd both confessed _we might run scared_ when things got bad and that's not the kind of person you want in your team, even if you happen to be that kind of person yourself. But Gai was better than that. Perhaps someday, we might also be.

Then the spy's widow called the cops on us.

* * *

The woman sobbed inconsolably, weeping. She charged us with murder. She painted us as the coldblooded killers of her husband and child. A young Uchiha Mikoto, self-possessed and demure in her police uniform, assured her that atrocities from shinobi against civilians were always harshly punished and that newly minted genins who abused that power were to be punished the harshest of all, to set an example. It was so absurd I didn't even have the strength to defend myself. We just skulked in the cell.

Of course, Nara Shikaku-sensei was there to bail us out in a matter of minutes. But it wasn't quite so simple, said the police officers. There was to be a separate inquiry, made strictly by the police forces in all matters involving civilians, so Shikaku-sensei's evidence wouldn't do, and until they gathered their own evidence on the case (which if we were indeed completely innocent should be easy to do), we were to stay there. The Sarutobi kid could be released on a special immunity concession as soon as they got a police officer to vouch for him, they said, but Gai and I—the nobodies—would have to stay. Asuma categorically refused to leave before we did.

Shikaku-sensei's tight-lipped expression illustrated exactly what he thought of the stubborn way the police force treasured their autonomous power. He seemed both incredulous and furious that they'd hold us _just to make a point_ that the Uchiha had their own power, that they could push their weight around and conduct their own exclusive investigations, and that they and only they had the final say in any cases regarding civilians. So we sat and waited.

Mikoto, at least, seemed to have warmed up to us considerably after Shikaku-sensei explained our innocence. Now she watched us almost smilingly. I asked her if she could vouch for me and Gai and get us released, and then she did smile but shook her head sadly and lamented that her hands were tied. Then a thought struck me.

''Uchiha Teyaki-sensei... I'm sure he wouldn't mind vouching for his former students,'' actually, I suspected he would, but I had dirt on him, ''Is he a police officer?''

Every officer's face darkened at the mention of his name, ''Absolutely not, _that man _is no—''

''Actually, he's never been officially discharged,'' Mikoto reminded them sweetly, ''He could very well vouch for them.''

* * *

After Teyaki came and bailed us out (begrudgingly, but he couldn't have stood against Shikaku-sensei _and_ Mikoto, he'd have finished ruining himself), we went out to celebrate our admission into Konoha's forces. Shikaku-sensei's treat. Now properly healed and bandaged, Gai still couldn't believe he'd passed and had to hear it several times, and I couldn't blame him when it all felt so surreal I couldn't believe it either, that we were sitting there still in one piece, eating ramen at Ichiraku and hearing Shikaku-sensei say that we were in fact too much trouble to have around, like most things worth keeping, and that since trouble was everywhere anyway, the important thing was to handle it, which we'd shown we could.

So. Ichiraku ramen. I ate quietly. Shikaku-sensei yawned. Asuma touched his headband gingerly. Gai ate ravenously and talked about weights, talked about plans for getting faster, didn't talk about dead little toddlers unsaved but we could all hear it anyway. Teyaki-sensei, who'd tagged along, brooded.

Shikaku-sensei introduced us to a redheaded woman who consumed ramen at inhuman speeds and asked us to describe the seal for her. I didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to rub salt into open wounds of memory, but I had to. The seal was indeed categorized as a potent explosive tag, but with some peculiar custom markings for Kushina to ponder.

Before I knew it, I was saying, ''I just don't understand why she'd call the police. We _saved_ her. Gai would have given his life...''

''Ask Uzumaki,'' Teyaki-sensei sneered, ''She knows all about calling the police.''

I looked between them confusedly.

''Uzumaki Kushina was the only person dumb enough to ever call the police on prestigious Uchiha assailants over average joe civilians. And I was the only police officer dumb enough to say I'd arrest anybody regardless of social position within my clan hierarchy. Look were it got me. Fallen from the elders' favor, driven from the compound, forever stuck teaching a bunch of snotty brats,'' Teyaki-sensei recounted bitterly, ''So yes, I know why that woman would call the police on you. Because for some people, it's loyalty over justice. The ones they love can never do any wrong, even when they do, and they look to blame _anyone_ else.''

''Oh, please,'' Kushina huffed between ramen cups, ''You're still sore about falling out with your clan? Give those bastards good riddance! You did the right thing and you know it. Helping innocents is its own reward, idiot!''

It was a long story, but it wasn't really over until an Uzumaki knocked someone's moral compass straight with some choice words and a beating.


End file.
